Give the Devil His Due
Because I am perfedtly incapable of not starting a new story when one of my wips are close to finishing (that being Red River Love Song with, I think, two more chapters to go), I bring you a taste of the next fic I'm working on.
I've changed the title about a million times and been trying to make a banner for it with little success, but I haven't given up yet. I'm only posting at my LJ. No comms for now.
So the question is: what's worth the price of your immortal soul? And if the Devil, or one of his minions offered it, would you accept? Here's a very short Chapter 1 with the answer.
Chapter 1
It’s no fun getting old and ugly. It’s no fun watching your skin turn into sagging crepe, and the smooth, slim form that you always took for granted, bulge and thicken in unlikely places. Wobbly underarms. Jowly chin. A face you no longer recognize, and behind it, the essential you trapped in the prison of a ravaged body, desperate to escape.
Disgusting, right?
Well, if I haven’t driven you away by that description, you are a brave soul, I think. Or one who feels that same shadow creeping ever closer to where you sit comfortably, beginning to read my story.
And yes, I do have a story. Which of us doesn’t? We’re all our own hero, as David Copperfield once said, and so I am mine. No surprises there. This story is about love, of course, and obsession. You might find that surprising given what I’ve said so far. But it’s true. It’s about a man too beautiful for anyone’s good, including his own, and the price a person is willing to pay for his or her heart’s desire. I have yet to learn the full extent of what that truly involves, and it scares me, if I’m honest. But my fears are neither here no there. We will get to them eventually.
So saying, I believe we are ready to begin at the beginning.
*********************
The kettle was on. I could hear it whistling at me with flirty persistence while I bundled into my robe and shuffled my feet into the ancient felt slippers that had served me for years. Robe and slippers were comfort on an elementary level; a physical as well as a spiritual balm, old friends, and on this cold and storm-tossed morning, I needed a little comfort..
There was certainly nothing spiritual about the ravaged face that regarded me gloomily from the bathroom mirror as I stole a quick glance into its murky depths before hurrying to silence my summoner. Old. I was old. Sixty-five come next April, and I didn’t like it in the least.
Grumbling to myself, I cinched the robe more tightly around my thickened middle, hurrying into the dim gloom of the October kitchen. Storm light and rain-beaded window panes were a poor substitute for the bright encouragement of a spring sun. Oh how I longed for spring. Autumn had barely begun, yet already I was moping for the pellucid blue of remembered skies. A chill breath stirred along the drafty floor boards, making small goose bumps spill across my bare ankles.
I shivered as I poured water over a tea bag and took the steaming cup to the corner window, overlooking what was left of the garden after last night’s torrential rain. I was surprised to see a raven flap his way, heavy-winged, across the darkened backdrop of fat clouds. Birds usually took shelter during storms, and the foul weather was far from over.
Just as I reached out to flip closed the curtains on the depressing scene, there was a loud thump at the back door, followed by two brisk knocks. My eyes flicked to the clock over the refrigerator. Six twenty a.m. Who the hell would be banging on my door at that ungodly hour? I only rose at cock’s crow, no pun intended at my age, because my arthritis made it nearly impossible to sleep through the night. Usually around five thirty or six, I gave up entirely.
The knock sounded again, more impatient.
“Coming. Coming.”
I scrunched the collar of my robe tight to my throat in anticipation of the cold and pulled the door open, ready to scold old Joe for delivering the wood before even Christ and the birds had a chance to rise. The sentiment withered on my tongue at the sight of the beautiful woman standing there.
Don’t ever let the preachers tell you evil is ugly, that it’s twisted and visible at first glance to the naked eye, because I’m here to testify for a fact, that’s a lie. It’s small and supple and seductive. It has wide brown eyes and full lips, and it’s female.
Her hair whipped and snapped around her face, resembling nothing more than a mass of frenzied snakes. A shiver ran down my spine as the rising wind caught it and flared the ends out in a sullen halo. The color was blackest ebony-like her heart. Of course, I only learned the tidbit about her heart later, when it was too late to make any difference.
She smiled at me, sweet as cherry pie and spoke in a voice dipped in honey. “Aren’t you going to ask a stranded stranger inside before she freezes?”
“Stranded?”
I stumbled back, pushing the door open. She was a little thing, not even up to my shoulder, and staring at her, my initial alarm faded. I didn’t see why I had reason to fear someone so small. I’m oversized, if truth be told. Never have found a comfort zone where my height is concerned. I was always stepping on somebody or falling over things like the clumsy jackass I am.
“How..? What..?. As you can see, I’m a brilliant conversationalist, too. “What...uh...happened”
“My car broke down.”
She waved a hand off towards the road, its thin curve barely visible behind a stand of leafless oaks and the squat darkness of the barn hunkered dimly in the morning gloom.
“Oh hell,” she suddenly spat, tapping the center of my chest with a long red fingernail. “Why should I lie? Let’s just get to it. The name’s Ruby, and I’ve come to barter for your soul.”
“You what?”
Things got a bit confused after that, what with me thinking she’d escaped from Crazy Acres, the local loony bin (my name for it. It surely went by a title more dignified than that, but brain freeze failed to dredge it up.) And I was left looking around wildly for something to tie her with until the authorities arrived to haul her insane ass out of there.
The next thing I recollected, we were seated across the kitchen table from each other, me with my cold tea, and her with an instant coffee that wrinkled up her nose distastefully when she took a first sip.
“It’s simple,” she explained, pushing away her cup daintily. “You’ve made one Hell of a racket, forgive the expression, complaining about getting old. Whine, whine, whine. You never stop. Did you know that? Not since the day you turned sixty, and that was almost five years ago. I ask you! You're even starting to get on Satan’s last nerve. Of course, he’s never been very patient.”
“I’d call five years patient,” I offered with just the right amount of sarcasm
She frowned. “Never mind. You wouldn’t understand. The point is...” She leaned forward over the scarred pine table with a wolfish grin, “You made some noise. The Big Guy heard-and here I am.”
“Okaaay. I guess I’m with you so far, but I don’t get what you want with me. I’m only one person, or soul. Whatever. Even to be young again doesn’t seem worth giving up my chance at eternity in the presence of God.”
Ruby slipped a hand into her coat pocket and drew out what was obviously a photograph. She laid it face down on the table, humming a complacent little tune. It might have been Whatever Lola Wants, Lola Gets. Her gaze tilted up at me with teasing absorption.
“Oh, there’s more to it than that. There’s this.”
In that moment, I had a suspicion, but I tamped it down. Stomped on it with both feet and kicked it for good measure.
“Yes,” she gloated. “Your heart’s desire. Yours for... Well, shall we call it, the taking? And the price is so small compared to the gain.”
The following snicker was salacious, even for one of Satan’s minions. She read my mind. The mental invasion left me feeling violated. Him. We were talking about him. That face, that body. I had dreamt about him forever. I could have him. I saw it in her eyes between the leaping fires of Hell.
“Say yes,” she whispered in a snake hiss. “Say yes, and he’s yours. Do whatever you want with him. He won’t be able to resist.” Her teeth were very white when she smiled. “He’ll ask for more.”
I stared at her, my heart thumping in my breast, the air in my lungs seeming seared with flame. I swallowed. I could feel a tingle running up and down the skin of my arms and legs, the crepe-wrinkled, withered flesh of my old age. Christ have mercy on me. I opened my mouth and heard myself answer. Heard it muffled and far away, “Yes,” I said. "Yes."
I've changed the title about a million times and been trying to make a banner for it with little success, but I haven't given up yet. I'm only posting at my LJ. No comms for now.
So the question is: what's worth the price of your immortal soul? And if the Devil, or one of his minions offered it, would you accept? Here's a very short Chapter 1 with the answer.
Chapter 1
It’s no fun getting old and ugly. It’s no fun watching your skin turn into sagging crepe, and the smooth, slim form that you always took for granted, bulge and thicken in unlikely places. Wobbly underarms. Jowly chin. A face you no longer recognize, and behind it, the essential you trapped in the prison of a ravaged body, desperate to escape.
Disgusting, right?
Well, if I haven’t driven you away by that description, you are a brave soul, I think. Or one who feels that same shadow creeping ever closer to where you sit comfortably, beginning to read my story.
And yes, I do have a story. Which of us doesn’t? We’re all our own hero, as David Copperfield once said, and so I am mine. No surprises there. This story is about love, of course, and obsession. You might find that surprising given what I’ve said so far. But it’s true. It’s about a man too beautiful for anyone’s good, including his own, and the price a person is willing to pay for his or her heart’s desire. I have yet to learn the full extent of what that truly involves, and it scares me, if I’m honest. But my fears are neither here no there. We will get to them eventually.
So saying, I believe we are ready to begin at the beginning.
*********************
The kettle was on. I could hear it whistling at me with flirty persistence while I bundled into my robe and shuffled my feet into the ancient felt slippers that had served me for years. Robe and slippers were comfort on an elementary level; a physical as well as a spiritual balm, old friends, and on this cold and storm-tossed morning, I needed a little comfort..
There was certainly nothing spiritual about the ravaged face that regarded me gloomily from the bathroom mirror as I stole a quick glance into its murky depths before hurrying to silence my summoner. Old. I was old. Sixty-five come next April, and I didn’t like it in the least.
Grumbling to myself, I cinched the robe more tightly around my thickened middle, hurrying into the dim gloom of the October kitchen. Storm light and rain-beaded window panes were a poor substitute for the bright encouragement of a spring sun. Oh how I longed for spring. Autumn had barely begun, yet already I was moping for the pellucid blue of remembered skies. A chill breath stirred along the drafty floor boards, making small goose bumps spill across my bare ankles.
I shivered as I poured water over a tea bag and took the steaming cup to the corner window, overlooking what was left of the garden after last night’s torrential rain. I was surprised to see a raven flap his way, heavy-winged, across the darkened backdrop of fat clouds. Birds usually took shelter during storms, and the foul weather was far from over.
Just as I reached out to flip closed the curtains on the depressing scene, there was a loud thump at the back door, followed by two brisk knocks. My eyes flicked to the clock over the refrigerator. Six twenty a.m. Who the hell would be banging on my door at that ungodly hour? I only rose at cock’s crow, no pun intended at my age, because my arthritis made it nearly impossible to sleep through the night. Usually around five thirty or six, I gave up entirely.
The knock sounded again, more impatient.
“Coming. Coming.”
I scrunched the collar of my robe tight to my throat in anticipation of the cold and pulled the door open, ready to scold old Joe for delivering the wood before even Christ and the birds had a chance to rise. The sentiment withered on my tongue at the sight of the beautiful woman standing there.
Don’t ever let the preachers tell you evil is ugly, that it’s twisted and visible at first glance to the naked eye, because I’m here to testify for a fact, that’s a lie. It’s small and supple and seductive. It has wide brown eyes and full lips, and it’s female.
Her hair whipped and snapped around her face, resembling nothing more than a mass of frenzied snakes. A shiver ran down my spine as the rising wind caught it and flared the ends out in a sullen halo. The color was blackest ebony-like her heart. Of course, I only learned the tidbit about her heart later, when it was too late to make any difference.
She smiled at me, sweet as cherry pie and spoke in a voice dipped in honey. “Aren’t you going to ask a stranded stranger inside before she freezes?”
“Stranded?”
I stumbled back, pushing the door open. She was a little thing, not even up to my shoulder, and staring at her, my initial alarm faded. I didn’t see why I had reason to fear someone so small. I’m oversized, if truth be told. Never have found a comfort zone where my height is concerned. I was always stepping on somebody or falling over things like the clumsy jackass I am.
“How..? What..?. As you can see, I’m a brilliant conversationalist, too. “What...uh...happened”
“My car broke down.”
She waved a hand off towards the road, its thin curve barely visible behind a stand of leafless oaks and the squat darkness of the barn hunkered dimly in the morning gloom.
“Oh hell,” she suddenly spat, tapping the center of my chest with a long red fingernail. “Why should I lie? Let’s just get to it. The name’s Ruby, and I’ve come to barter for your soul.”
“You what?”
Things got a bit confused after that, what with me thinking she’d escaped from Crazy Acres, the local loony bin (my name for it. It surely went by a title more dignified than that, but brain freeze failed to dredge it up.) And I was left looking around wildly for something to tie her with until the authorities arrived to haul her insane ass out of there.
The next thing I recollected, we were seated across the kitchen table from each other, me with my cold tea, and her with an instant coffee that wrinkled up her nose distastefully when she took a first sip.
“It’s simple,” she explained, pushing away her cup daintily. “You’ve made one Hell of a racket, forgive the expression, complaining about getting old. Whine, whine, whine. You never stop. Did you know that? Not since the day you turned sixty, and that was almost five years ago. I ask you! You're even starting to get on Satan’s last nerve. Of course, he’s never been very patient.”
“I’d call five years patient,” I offered with just the right amount of sarcasm
She frowned. “Never mind. You wouldn’t understand. The point is...” She leaned forward over the scarred pine table with a wolfish grin, “You made some noise. The Big Guy heard-and here I am.”
“Okaaay. I guess I’m with you so far, but I don’t get what you want with me. I’m only one person, or soul. Whatever. Even to be young again doesn’t seem worth giving up my chance at eternity in the presence of God.”
Ruby slipped a hand into her coat pocket and drew out what was obviously a photograph. She laid it face down on the table, humming a complacent little tune. It might have been Whatever Lola Wants, Lola Gets. Her gaze tilted up at me with teasing absorption.
“Oh, there’s more to it than that. There’s this.”
In that moment, I had a suspicion, but I tamped it down. Stomped on it with both feet and kicked it for good measure.
“Yes,” she gloated. “Your heart’s desire. Yours for... Well, shall we call it, the taking? And the price is so small compared to the gain.”
The following snicker was salacious, even for one of Satan’s minions. She read my mind. The mental invasion left me feeling violated. Him. We were talking about him. That face, that body. I had dreamt about him forever. I could have him. I saw it in her eyes between the leaping fires of Hell.
“Say yes,” she whispered in a snake hiss. “Say yes, and he’s yours. Do whatever you want with him. He won’t be able to resist.” Her teeth were very white when she smiled. “He’ll ask for more.”
I stared at her, my heart thumping in my breast, the air in my lungs seeming seared with flame. I swallowed. I could feel a tingle running up and down the skin of my arms and legs, the crepe-wrinkled, withered flesh of my old age. Christ have mercy on me. I opened my mouth and heard myself answer. Heard it muffled and far away, “Yes,” I said. "Yes."